


Second to the right, and straight on till morning

by Francessca



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura is still our kind but fiery princess, And Lance wishes to be a pirate, F/M, Lallura, a brief mention of Lotor, allurance, both Coran and Romelle are mentioned here and there, fairytale AU, time to add some cute and innocent childhood romance to the allurance tag, will be adding more tags as the story goes on!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-09 20:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12284034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Francessca/pseuds/Francessca
Summary: Because childhood simplifies everything. . . even love. The tale of a young, adventurous princess and her charming would-be pirate.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So several years ago I had written this story for a small contest and while I was clearing out my clutter from my drives, I found this and felt a wave of nostalgia come over me. After I was finished, it hit me that the characters acted very similar to Lance and Allura and then I decided "well why not???" and rewrote some parts to fit them! Originally it was going to be Klance, but Allurance needs some more lovin'. Ahhhh, I'm pretty iffy on the title because it's close to what the original was and I was trying to make it something different lol If any of you have any suggestions, please don't hesitate to share with me!! This is also supposed to be read like an actual fairytale that our parents and teachers had read to us when we were younger. . . But that's what I was hoping to aim for lol I'm pretty sure I slipped up here and there.

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_"Wendy, Wendy, when you are sleeping in your silly bed you might be flying about with me saying funny things to the stars."_

~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

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**_At nine years old, Allura met a strange boy._ **

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When her ninth birthday had finally come to pass, Allura thought she was more than qualified to be out meandering around the kingdom's largest market town without even the remotest hint of supervision.

 

After all, the precocious princess was well-read, well-versed in self-defense (as the poor stable boys who had thought to play rough with her had discovered to their physical detriment), and had an earnest thirst to experience the corners of the world that extended beyond brief family outings. Unfortunately for the adventurous child, however, the reigning monarchs of the land, who by an unhappy twist of fate were also her parents, did not exactly concur with that dubious opinion.

 

Their staunch refusal, born of natural parental worry, to allow their daughter beyond the castle boundaries without an escort had therefore resulted in Allura taking desperate measures.

 

Hence the reason she was now smothered from head to toe in a thick cloak, courtesy of her beloved cousin Romelle. Allura felt the keen thrill of disguise, with her thick, white locks safely tucked away from view beneath her hood, her finely made dress concealed beneath the rough woolen fabric, and her feet clad in simple black slippers she had traded the milkmaid's daughter her own dainty shoes for.

 

The near unbearable heat that resulted from wandering around the marketplace garbed in such a way, in the middle of spring with hundreds of other shoppers and traders was, to Allura, well worth the simple marvels of everyday life she was afforded the privilege of seeing there.

 

Anonymity was a wonderful thing — no one stopped her or stared blatantly. Tucked under her little cloak, she was no princess, no daughter of kings. . . just Allura.

 

And so, as just Allura, she was free to wander about in a state of ravenous curiosity, at liberty to view things without the restricting barrier of dozens of guards or her parents' hovering presence.

 

To say it was intoxicating would been a light term to use.

 

She ran her hands reverently over brightly-woven afghans from Agrabah, and marveled at the sleekest silks imported from the mysterious depths of the Orient. She listened to the fearsome tales of wild beasts that roamed the forest lands as she looked at the intricate woodcarvings, depicting them, heard the enthralling boastings of blacksmiths who showed off their wares, claiming that each sword had taken the life of a dragon or two. Not that she believed a thing they said, but the far-fetched yarns were at least entertaining to listen to. They certainly made a pleasant change from the somnolent lectures of her tutors.

 

And so she mingled, exposed to the small fragments of far-off kingdoms and intrepid lands that only the brave could traverse, knowing that this was likely as close as she would ever get to the stories of her parents' heroic deeds and travels that Coran and the other tutors regaled her with when she wasn't studying.

 

As her parents and their various friends had been occupied as of late with the furthering of diplomatic relations and the opening of new trade routes, leaving a bored Allura to the lackluster routine of eat, lessons, sleep, this was undoubtedly the most amusement Allura had gathered in quite a while.

 

Unfortunately for Allura’s outing, however, this one took a turn for the decidedly worse when, like in most tales, hunger got the best of her.

 

The marketplace's vastness required that it be organized into sections — artisan crafts, carpenter's wood works, smithies' steel wares, the flower sellers, etc. Allura knew when she had crossed the line from the sharp pungency of steel and crowded males that made up the smithy sector, and into the one where various foods, both foreign and national, were set out for display, for the air took on a sweet quality and thickened with the scent of spices and sugars.

 

Walking along the pie stands and bread shops, fried meat stands and fruit carts, her gut had immediately clenched with longing.

 

She came to a stop before one of them, passing a hand apologetically over the complaining part of her body. Those scarce few muffins she had hastily crammed in her mouth as she had slipped from the castle's remote stable exits were now thoroughly digested. . . making the fact that she was now standing directly before a cart piled high with luscious red apples all the more uncomfortably blatant.

 

She gave an idle glance around.

 

The adult who appeared to be the apple merchant, a rotund man with a coarse voice, seemed to be haggling animatedly with a farmer and his wagon full of round, tantalizing fruits. Engrossed as he was in the conversation, he didn't seem to take any notice of the small girl staring ravenously at his cart.

 

A low rumble disrupted her concentration, the audible hunger of her stomach translating visually in hungry look in her eyes at the sight of the shining red apples perched neatly atop one another, rows upon rows of blooming crimson glinting in the warm morning sunlight.

There were so many, she thought with a childish reasoning. The apple seller wouldn't be mad if she just took one, right?

 

Not thinking very much of it, she obeyed the grumbling of her stomach and took the very top one off the pile. Immediately she brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply. Her mouth watered at the scent, and she smiled contentedly as she prepared to sink her teeth into the crisp skin.

 

"You've gotta pay fer what ye take, girly!"

 

Apparently she had been wrong to guilelessly believe she hadn't been noticed.

 

Allura yelped as the stall merchant materialized before her. He seized her roughly by the hand, the ground swept from beneath her feet as she dangled helplessly in the air. The apple, knocked from her grasp, went hurtling through the air and wastefully rolling on the dusty ground.

 

Eye-to-eye with the large man that had grabbed her, and a large distance from the ground, she could do little more than twist and struggle. The realization that, courtesy of her brilliant idea of sneaking out of the castle unaccompanied meant no one would be rushing to her rescue, suddenly stilled her frightened movements.

 

Why oh why had she thought this to be a good idea again?

 

Her nose wrinkled automatically as she was brought closer to the furious apple seller, the man's putrid odor washing unpleasantly over her. This was nothing like her mother's lulling junniberry smell, or her father's comforting scent of steel and the woodlands, but a nastily pervasive stink that made her want to gag.

 

Allura clamped her mouth firmly shut. She didn't think the situation would be helped were she to vomit all over him.

 

"So," he rumbled, his voice deepening with anger. "Where's yer money for that apple, girl!?"

 

There was no way around it — she would have to open her mouth to defend herself.

 

"I'm-I'm sorry!" she stammered, panic coursing through her and causing her heart to patter frantically against her chest. Her heart was also fluttering because it was rather oxygen-deprived, seeing as she was desperately trying not to breathe and accidentally inhale his disgusting smell. "I d-don't have any! I'm sorry!"

 

Yellowing teeth were exposed as the merchant gnashed them furiously, reminding Allura vaguely of a petulant horse that had once bared its large mashers at her in a similar fashion. "Then ya shouldn't have stolen my apple then, should ya!"

 

Another rough shake and Allura’s already simmering temper flared, her demeanor slipping rapidly from contrite to annoyed. No one had ever handled her in such a rough way in her entire life, and it was already becoming intolerable. "I already apologized — I didn't know I had to pay!"

 

Despair at her naivety coursed through her. Oftentimes when she was out and about with her parents, shopkeepers had been more than generous in imparting little gifts to her. . . she had foolishly thought that would apply at any time. But as she had delighted in when first setting out, she wasn't a princess at the moment. Merely a normal little girl without a cent on her and descending rapidly into the stifling grip of trouble.

 

"Excuses won't do the trick. Ya know what we do to thieves 'round here, girly?" The man sneered at her, looming in further until she could literally feel his putrescent breath against her face.

 

Unable to reply, she just gave a frantic shake of her head.

 

The merchant snickered. It was an unpleasant, nasally laugh. "We take 'em and toss 'em in dank cells — or even haul 'em before the king an' queen themselves to be judged. I've heard of many a crook who's 'ad their head chopped off as punishment!"

 

It was only with great difficulty that Allura refrained from rolling her eyes. This was utterly laughable for two reasons: one, her peace-loving, epitome-of-generosity parents were inherent believers in the redeemable ideals of everyone and were about as likely to carelessly order an execution as they were to wage war. Two, the scenario of her being dragged up to the castle as a thief and have her crimes scrutinized by her parents was both mildly alarming and amusing. . . although she had the distinct notion that neither her mother nor father would view it as such.

 

A curious crowd had half-gathered by this point, made up of partially interested spectators and worried faces. None, however, were making any move to give aid to her. Allura bitterly wondered how fast they would hop to it were her true identity made known.

 

Was this what she was missing out on then, in her regulated little life at the castle? Was this the grandeur of humanity she had been so enthralled with in the library's endless tales of heroism and nobility?

 

If so, Allura made a mental note to chuck all of those lying books in the bin as soon as she wriggled out of this situation.

 

"Oi, Mister!" A loud shout caught her assailant's attention. "Best look about now — some bloke just made off with a bunch of your wares while you was otherwise occupied!"

 

The merchant's eyes, already bulbous, bugged out even more at the shout.

 

Allura couldn't believe her good fortune at the timely distraction, mentally thanking the fact that there were deliberately dishonest people in the world who would rob someone blind at first advantage. Anything was better than the fate of being clapped in chains and tossed before her parents.

 

A small "Oomph" of pain escaped her as she was unceremoniously dropped to the ground in a heap. The merchant trundled off with a speed that belied his hefty size, and Allura was left rubbing her sore wrist in an anxious attempt to make sure it hadn't been irreparably broken in the oaf's grip.

 

Not a second later and she was being abruptly tugged up by two firm hands grasping her arms.

 

"Might want to run, muñequita," a boyish voice suggested lowly against her ear. "He won't stay occupied for long."

 

Allura squeaked, spinning about until she found herself gazing into two startlingly blue eyes, mischief writ across them plain as day. They belonged to a boy not much older than she, who was already tugging pointedly at her arm in an effort to get her to move.

 

But tired of being manhandled like a sack of potatoes, she opened her to mouth to argue —  and then rapidly decided against it after catching a glimpse of the exceedingly enraged apple seller, who had apparently figured out he had been tricked and was now bearing down upon them like some ferocious demon from one of her father's adventures.

 

As dull as the man might have looked, he obviously missed little when it came to monetary matters.

 

Her hand was snagged quickly, and Allura felt herself being pulled into what was fast becoming a frenetic sprint through the marketplace.

 

She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the back of her timely savior's head, which mainly consisted of a pair of dark brown antennae flickering about atop a mass of loose curls that couldn't seem to decide which way they wanted to lie.

 

Helpless to do otherwise, she vainly tried to keep up with every fluid dodge and quick maneuver the boy made — though without much success, for he seemed to navigate these labyrinthine streets with all the ease of a local who traversed them daily.

 

Determined not to lag behind, Allura swallowed her bewilderment and tampered down on the heavy feeling of over-exertion already beginning to steal over her, instead of focusing on making her smaller, slippered feet follow carefully in the wake of the boy's long-legged strides.

 

Even for all her effort, however, if not for the unyielding clasp of his fingers about hers, she would undoubtedly have been hopelessly lost among the crowd. Allura looked down bemusedly at their joined hands, the rough feel of calluses and summer heat playing warmly against her soft brown skin.

 

She'd never held hands with a boy before.

 

It was. . . strange. Different. But the good kind of different; the type of different you received when you bit into a new dessert for the first time and let the flavors play deliciously across your tongue.

 

And so, shrugging off the tingling sensation on her skin, she curled tentative fingers around the boy's and lost herself in the run.

 

 

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It was only when they had made it beyond the stone walls of the marketplace and into the safety of the surrounding forest that Allura finally called a halt to the endless dashing about. In a little copse of trees, she dug her heels stubbornly into the dirt and allowed her body to become a leaden weight to the boy guiding her as she leaned backwards.

 

The movement caught his attention, causing him to similarly slow to a halt and turn around — for the first time, Allura looked fully upon the face of the one who had rescued her. Because of the face that he stood a good few inches taller than her, the youthfulness of his features was surprising. The short and dark curls of hair she had seen only from behind now messily framed a sun-tanned face (which also happened to be horribly smudged with traces of soot and dirt) with bangs that flopped haphazardly across his forehead. As she had briefly glimpsed when he had pulled her from the ground earlier, a set of enchanting blue eyes, — the color of a calm sea — , peeked out from beneath thin brows.

 

They stood in silence for a moment, Allura blinking up at him. The boy stared back, almost impertinent in his unwavering gaze.

 

Finally, Allura coughed and, noting their still-clasped hands, pulled hers away with a speed that almost implied rudeness.

 

"I'm not running anymore." She bluntly said the first thing that came to mind, most likely born of her aching feet and roughened breathing.

 

A chuckle met her proclamation, the boy flashing her an impossibly wide grin. "Wasn't asking you to,muñeca. Here's as good a place to stop as any." A strange accent lilted the words. Body arching and leaning up on tiptoe, he stretched like a leisurely cat. "I was a little curious as to how far a tiny thing like you could run."

 

Her mouth fell open, quite inelegantly. "You mean — you mean — " Allura stammered, her quickly-rising ire making her tongue-tied. "Do you mean to say you hauled me all the way out here merely for your own amusement?!"

 

"Weeelll~" the boy dragged out the word, his laughing eyes twinkling in a way that irritated her for some indefinable reason. "That and the fact that ya seemed to be in a spot of trouble. I'm still waiting the boundless gratitude for that, by the way."

 

His swarmy words instantly caused Allura’s already perilously darkening mood to sour further. If this cretin thought she'd be showering him with anything even remotely resembling adulation, he definitely had another thing coming!

 

"I would have been fine," she snapped, folding her arms and attempting to ignore the blatant lie formed by her own lips. "There was no need for you to intervene!"

 

"Sure," he agreed instantly, smirking lightly. "I thought you were handling being dangled like a worm on a hook particularly well, muñeca."

 

"I was! Er, that is to say I, um. . ." _Quiznack_ , Allura thought, employing a phrase that she frequently heard her father’s advisor exclaim when his head would get lost in the clouds. His carelessness got the best of him and he’d smacked his head on some of the lower door arches of the castle. This unbearable boy had a point, but Allura was Allura, and she absolutely _hated_ being made a fool of. So rather than continue the argument, she gave a dismissive little sniff and a cold "Good day" before making an about-face and marching, stiff-backed, towards the direction of her grandiose home.

 

. . . Or at least in the direction she thought her home was in.

 

Only a few stomped steps away, however, and there was the rustling crunch of leaves behind her. Shooting an annoyed glance behind her, she found that insufferable and grimy face staring back at her.

 

"What?" she grumbled, wondering what he wanted and definitely not fancying the idea of having him follow her all the way back to the castle. "Go away, boy."

 

He interlocked his fingers, placing them behind his head — the very picture of careless ease. "Just had a question for you, that's all," he said, clearly unruffled by her snappish tone. "Figured you owe me at least an answer, seeing as I did just save your pretty little hide from landing in gaol."

 

Emotions warred with upbringing — the impulsive, emotional side yelling for her to simply grant him her best royal nose-wrinkle and storm off, and the proper, well-upbringing part of her pointing out sensibly that he was indeed entitled to a request, given the service he had just performed her.

 

"And that is?" Allura had a brief fantasy in which this boy was a fly, and she had to do little more than swat him away with her hand to drive him off. She would answer his stupid question and then be done with him forever.

 

"What's your name?"

 

She blinked, taking an uncomfortable step backwards. Names were intimate things — hers was one bestowed upon her by the mother she loved and respected most in her life, the father she trusted and adored more than anything. It was special. She certainly didn't want this uncouth boy knowing it.

 

There was only one alternative, then.

 

"You may call me 'Princess'," she told him formally. After a second's contemplation, she yanked off the concealing hood in one swift swipe, allowing a cascade of ivory ringlets to tumble down her shoulders.

 

Her head and face fully exposed, Allura looked at the boy expectantly and waited for recognition to set in.

 

But instead of a gasp of realization, or some groveling for her to forgive his impertinence, all she received was a quirked eyebrow and a nonchalantly drawled, "Don't think so. 'M not calling you that."

 

And just like that, her suggestion was promptly discarded. In three words by a scruffy young boy in patched breeches, no less.

 

Allura stared at him, eyes rounding with disbelief and utterly flabbergasted. "Why not?"

 

"Dontcha have a name?"

 

She huffed, regarding him distrustfully. "Of course I have a name, but that doesn't mean you get to just call me by it!"

 

"How's that then?"

 

"Because I'm a princess!" The frustrated reply was automatic, firing from her lips before she really had a chance to consider it. It wasn't entirely her fault — after all, it seemed to Allura that most of her questions posed to adults were answered with the universal reply of _'Because you're a princess'_.

 

The strange boy, meanwhile, had given a loud scoff at her words. His mouth crooked upwards in a half-smile as his eyes danced with bold amusement. "Well, you're not _my_ princess," he said brazenly.

 

The white-haired child blinked, lips parting in surprise. Allura was mildly offended, not quite used to being dismissed with such ease. "How do you mean?"

 

The dirty-faced boy turned and hopped effortlessly onto a splintered tree, his spindly build and lithe movements oddly reminding her of her father for a moment. Despite her current disgruntlement, she smothered a soft giggle at the thought.

 

"I come from a small isle off  in the West, see," the urchin explained, eyes trained firmly on the scraggly bark of the fallen tree he was pacing. His arms were thrown wide as he balanced himself, nimbly moving upon the wood with a strange grace. "And it isn't ruled by yer parents, is it now?"

 

Thinking back hard and finding that she recalled little of the admittedly boring geography and history lessons Allura had been repeatedly forced to attend by her adamant parents, she was a little remorseful that she had fallen asleep as often as she had. Though she still asserted that it wasn't through any fault of her own that she had the unfortunate tendency of rudely dozing off during those particular lessons, seeing as her tutor was quite possibly the most boring person in the land. Had her teacher held any of Coran's penchant for storytelling, or cousin Romelle’s passionate manner of expressing herself, Allura might not have been so inclined towards slumber.

 

Even so, she vaguely remembered the distant Western lands as being very far away and markedly different from the region governed by her parents: less agricultural and tending more towards trading, fishing, and the like. As a result that section had attracted an amalgam of peoples and a mixture of all different cultures—she supposed that was where this boy had gained his thoroughly odd, choppy accent.

 

"Still," she said slowly, mind still mulling over this. "You live here now, don't you?"

 

"Yeah. What of it?"

 

Allura smiled with satisfaction, a hint of slyness peeking through. "Then that means you're a subject of this kingdom. And therefore, I _am_ your princess!" She finished the last part with no small amount of relish, pleased at having finally obtained the upper hand in this odd conversation.

 

Brown hair flickered untidily as he neatly pivoted on one foot. The smirk on his face seemed unusually condescending for one so young. "Temporary relocation is all," he said. "I plan to leave soon enough."

 

His smug words stumped her. She glared at the wily boy, momentarily lost for a retort. Did it make her a bad person if she really hoped he would fall off the stupid tree he kept prancing about on?

 

Daughter of the ever-elegant Queen of Altea she may be, but at the moment she would have delighted in anything to wipe the dumb grin off his face.

 

As though reading the unkind thoughts whirling through her mind, the dreadful boy laughed, sprang skillfully from his perch and landed, cat-like, on his feet.

 

A blue gaze glittered with amusement as he pushed persistent bangs from his forehead. "So, now that we've established you're not my princess. . . gonna tell me your name then,muñequita?"

 

"No." Allura scowled, eyebrows forming a sharp "V" of displeasure. "And stop calling me that! What does that even mean? You can't be much older than I am to be treating me like this."

 

"Already ten, just last fall." His eyes swept her speculatively, his head tilting to the side in consideration as he pointedly ignored the former. "You can't be anymore than. . . six. Am I right?"

 

A loud squeak of annoyance left her. She wondered if he was deliberately being a prat or if we was just naturally that obtuse. "I'm nine, I'll have you know!"

 

"Impossible."

 

Allura imagined she could hear the snap as her temper broke cleanly in half. "And **why** is that impossible?" she demanded hotly.

 

The boy smirked again, eyes sweeping from the tip of her ivory head to the toes of her slippered feet. "You're just so. . . short. Nope. I think you're having me one, muñequita."

 

"Cease. Calling. Me. That!"

 

"Got somethin' else for me to call you then?"

 

"I already told you."

 

"And I already said that's not a name."

 

They stared at each other, each standing at the precipice of a yawning impasse.

 

Allura fumed wordlessly, wondering if all boys were naturally born into the world with such an impossible disposition, or if she was uniquely blessed in the fact that she had encountered the most idiotic of them all.

 

She could hear the grin in his voice when he finally decided to break the stubborn silence.

 

"Well then, I'm—"

 

"I _really_ could care less," she interrupted, stamping off.

 

Between continuing having this lout's presence inflicted upon her and facing her parents' disappointment sooner, she'd rather choose the latter.

 

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A few days later after her escapade she was ambling through the woodland surrounding the castle, having finally had her house-arrest lifted by two still extremely disgruntled parents (although she had garnered the feeling from her mother's uncontrollably twitching lips during her father's ranting lecture about all of the dangers that could have befallen her that she was more amused with her daughter's willful adventurous streak than furious).

 

And even though it was quite pleasant to be sucking in lungfuls of fresh, forest air once again, Allura had to admit that the fact that these woods were enchanted with the Green Fairy's magical safeguards rather detracted from the fun and venturous quality of her walks.

 

After all, the most dangerous thing she was likely to encounter here were fluffy little bunny rabbits that could change into young girls in the blink of an eye. . . and loud, furry, and obnoxious squirrels.

 

Hardly the stuff breathtaking legends of daring courage were made of.

 

Allura kicked moodily at a pebble on the ground. Trying to sate her boredom with another market trip was most definitely out of the question now, seeing as her father had quite firmly emphasized that she was not to leave the castle or the immediate surrounding forest grounds without an escort.

 

More importantly, without Coran as an escort. She adored him and his peculiar mannerisms, truly she did, but having the propriety-concerned and talkative tutor hovering about her, clucking over her rashness, did not an exciting escapade make.

 

A heavy sigh filled the air, courtesy of one very mopey princess. It wasn't that she couldn't appreciate her parents' worry for her. After all, Allura had heard tales of a wicked witch and a crazed emperor that had strenuously tried their best to separate her mother and father. . . who had even attempted to bring down a black curse upon the land in the cruel spirit of that revenge, and who would have succeeded had it not been for the actions of the royal families and scattered heroes that had rallied together to defeat them.

 

The fiendish pair, suffering from the ignominy of failure and dire wounds to match, was rumored to have disappeared long ago, right on the eve of Allura’s birth, in fact. Allura supposed it was the fear that they might one day return to exact vengeance that caused her parents to enact such strict measures to ensure their daughter's safety. But just because she understood the root cause of her parents' over-protectiveness, that didn't mean she had to like it, and it certainly didn't mean she enjoyed being smothered with guards that made it impossible to run about and yell and play like the other children she caught glimpses of on trips with her parents.

 

Another exhalation of breath, this one accompanied by a frustrated "Ugh" that wasn't really a word, but darn it she was upset and disgruntled and would come up with as many non-words as she liked!

 

Allura continued in that fashion for a while, half-heartedly making her way down to the river by a path she had traversed hundreds of times in her youth already.

When she reached it, partly hoping there might be a horde of pirates that had accidentally drifted in by way of the sea (in a very small boat, of course), or perhaps a wily river-spirit that would demand she answer his riddles correctly or misfortune would befall her, she was disappointed yet again. The whispering waters of the river were the same as they always were: blue, rushing, and thoroughly unchanging.

 

Much like her life.

 

She was already resigning herself to another dull afternoon of aimlessly kicking her feet in the water, scaring away the odd fish that came to tickle her toes. . . until she caught glimpse of a bedraggled form with hopelessly unkempt dark hair lounging idly at the river side. It was a very familiar bedraggled form, and she'd stared at those messy locks of hair for a good while when she'd been unceremoniously dragged through a marketplace.

 

A tingle of excitement at the unexpected coursed through her. Never mind the fact that she had never met someone so utterly irritating in her entire life — he was something different, and anything different was good.

 

Employing all of her considerable lightness of foot—

 

( _"Princesses float, dear heart!" her mother reminded her cheerfully, demonstrating as she glided easily across the room. "They do not waddle, trundle, or do ungainly running about. . . except in dire cases."_

 

_"Like what, mama?" Allura had asked curiously._

 

 _"Hmm. . . running from monsters or unwanted suitors. Though I suppose they're really the same thing. . ."_ )

 

— Allura snuck nearer to the prone body. His identity as her ill-mannered savior was confirmed the closer she crept, but he made no movement to acknowledge her presence.

 

From his heavy-lidded eyes and slightly parted mouth, she supposed him to be dozing.

 

The barest hint of a smile unconsciously curved upon her pert lips, a bloom of eagerness developing upon her round cheeks. Uncommonly mischievous, she cupped her hands around the outside of her mouth, inhaling deeply.

 

**_"Hello boy!"_ **

 

The call, thoroughly unfeminine in its boisterousness, did what it was intended to: the snoozing adolescent jerked awoke with a startled yelp, his bleary eyes roving about wildly in search of the voice's source.

 

Allura couldn't quite suppress the triumphant smile rapidly stretching upon her face as his bemused gaze sought her out. She gave him a cheeky wave.

 

"Oh," he grumbled, with apparent disinterest as his eyes sought her out and familiarity set in. "It's just you, muñeca."

 

She watched as he yawned and sprawled back onto the lushly green riverbank, not as insulted at the apparent dismissal as she might have been upon first encountering him. One meeting had been more than enough to become mildly used to his blunt nature. Heedless of her dress's hem, she plodded through the damp and dew-ridden grass and resolutely plopped down by his side.

 

One blue eye cracked open at her. "What?" came the tired grunt.

 

Allura folded her hands primly on her lap, even as she ignored the way in which her legs were ungainly splayed outwards. "I found you again it seems. What were you doing, boy?"

 

"I was sleeping." This was followed by a few unintelligible mutters, inaudible even to Allura’s sharp ears. "And I've got a name, y'know."

 

"As do I," she retorted in a sugary tone. "But you've yet to use it."

 

A snort met her words. "Last I heard, 'Princess' wasn't a proper name. 'Sides, I would've thought you'd be tired of fancy titles and the like by now."

 

His offhanded remark struck a strange chord in Allura and she glanced down at her small hands, a frown evident on her face. How had he, an uncouth street boy that he was, known the discomfort and isolation her title often brought her, the cold jab that a lack of intimacy with others her age inspired?

 

" 'Propriety and royalty are synonymous with each other.' " The phrase rolled off her tongue almost involuntarily, Allura almost able to picture her mother's gentle eyes and lilting voice as she imparted it. She didn't add the mischievous addendum of "usually" that her mother had tacked on at the end of that.

 

"An' who told you that?"

 

"My mother."

 

"And what does _she_ call you?" There was a smile in his voice.

 

There was absolutely no chance that Allura was going to impart her mother's embarrassing endearments and her doting father's pet names to this boy. Teasing was obviously an inbred part of his roguish nature, and she had no desire to grant him any further material to use against her.

 

She sighed, blowing an exasperated breath out loudly. One hand slid gingerly among the grass, supporting her weight as she leaned over the indolent boy who seemed perfectly at ease among nature's cushioning bed. "You're being quite silly, keeping up with this pretense, you know," she told him quietly.

 

"What's that then?" His eyes were shut again, tone as placid as though they were involved in nothing more than the idle chatter that went on at tea time.

 

"Not knowing my name." She glanced away, plucking dispiritedly at rebellious weeds and random wildflowers. "It's not exactly a secret. Ask any person on the street and they'd be quite capable of telling you. I don't know why you persist in this. . . and I absolutely _hate_ liars."

 

"Right."

 

Allura gave a nearly imperceptible 'Eep!' of surprise as he abandoned all continued attempts at resuming his interrupted nap. Bright blue eyes regarded her contemplatively as he sat up with those unconsciously languid movements of his; soon enough an amused spark entered his gaze.

 

It was a spark bespeaking of cunning mischief yet to come, and it gave Allura a very, very, _very_ bad feeling.

 

"What?" she queried with an air of discomfort, resisting the urge to squirm under his gaze.

 

"How d'ya feel about games,  muñequita~?" he asked blithely, mouth curving up.

 

Her eyes narrowed, clearly communicating just how she felt about that particular form of address. Rapidly dissecting his words for any hint of trace of a trap, she replied reluctantly,  "I. . . they're alright, I suppose."

 

Not that she was very familiar with many games beyond the sedate hours spent galloping her dolls about her nursery with her mother, or mock-wrestling with her father. Still, not wishing to lose face, she kept her features as stiffly nonchalant as possible, pretending her expression was as stiff as some of the court ladies' overly starched petticoats.

 

"Well, then. We're gonna play a particular favorite o' mine." He leaned forwards, surveying her with his unsettlingly keen blue gaze. Lithe fingers pushed unruly locks of hair off his forehead. " _When_ I win, you're gonna tell me your name."

 

She raised an eyebrow at the overt self-assuredness in his tone, the fighting spirit that was unique to her usual gentle parents beginning to rally.

 

"And when _I_ win? What do _I_ get?"

 

"You," he said, with a marked delight at her show of gumption. "Get to tell me to mind my own business and sod off, before marching away in a self-righteous huff."

 

Allura snorted, beginning to rise up to her feet. "I hate to tell you this, boy, but I am quite capable of doing that anyways."

 

Her progress was halted by the light touch of his fingers upon her wrist. It was warmer than the kiss of daylight on her face, and was startling enough to give her pause.

 

"But you won't." The smarmy smirk was back, making an infuriating reappearance.

 

"And why is that?"

 

"Because," he said confidently. "You're bored. And you think you can win." He paused, a devilish gleam dancing merrily in the gaze that assessed her. "Besides that, you _like_ _me_. I can tell~" He tapped the side of his head. "Sixth sense and all that sweet goodness."

 

Allura rolled her eyes heavenward, shaking off his hand as she reseated herself. She offered him a challenging look.

 

"Fine. I'll play. If only to be rid of your irksome presence once and for all."

 

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Long story short, Allura lost.

 

Miserably.

 

As dirty and uneducated the urchin boy may have appeared, Allura had to admit that underneath the layers of grime lurked a shrewd intellect. Staring resentfully at his outstretched hand, she grit her teeth and tentatively took hold of his fingers in a tiny shake.

 

"I'm Allura," she grumbled.

 

"The name’s Lance," he introduced himself cheerfully. An amused grin played at his lips. "Nice to meet you, ‘Lura!”

 

Yes, Allura thought darkly, ignoring her new nickname. She was definitely going to wipe that stupid grin off his face.

 

. . . One of these days.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the weekend I managed to finished two more chapters because I've planned to update this fic every Tuesday and Saturdays. So I'm apologizing ahead of time if I end up getting behind that whoops.

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_“Take care, lest an adventure is now offered you, which, if accepted, will plunge you in deepest woe.”_

 

~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

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**_At nine years old, Allura met a strange boy and, by fate's intervention, became his friend._ **

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**_At ten years old, Allura was pulled abruptly into the world._ **

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Months after she first befriended that strange little boy by the riverside, he taught her how to climb a tree. Oddly enough, _that_ little interlude began with a pair of britches, as well as copious amounts of mirth.

 

Allura couldn't help the thoroughly loud and incredulous pig-like laugh that burst from her, violating most rules in the 'Appropriate Sounds Princesses May Emit' guidebook (sadly, such a thing did indeed exist — her governess was particularly fond of quoting it to her). She held up the stiff material he had pressed into her hands when she'd arrived, shaking it pointedly at him.

 

"And what," she asked, gulping in air between laughs, "Are these?"

 

"Breeches, of course," Lance said matter-of-factly, not even bothering to favor her with a glance. Instead, his attention was focused on critically staring at a _tree,_ of all things, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture she had come to realize he performed whenever deep in thought. "Put 'em on. There should be a shirt in the bag over there," he finished, gesturing vaguely at a cloth sack she hadn't noticed before.

 

"You're in jest." Some of the laughter slid off her face as she realized that Lance was not, in fact, joining in her uncontrollable chortling. She blinked. "You're serious?!"

 

"Brilliant deduction, muñeca. Now, into the clothes. We can't do what I want if you're trussed up in that contraption." A ridiculing glance at her dress more than expressed his thoughts on her outfit.

 

"What you want?" she parroted bleakly. "And that is. . .?"

 

"Introducing you to the survival necessities o' life," he said without missing a beat.

 

"I know plenty!" she insisted, insult pricking her indignation. Did he think her a fool? And really, considering the drawling lectures that comprised her daily schooling, it was a bit rich for him to say she knew nothing of life. Desperately she clutched at her dress, eyeing him as though he might steal the very cloth off her back.

 

"Not how to climb a tree, you don't."

 

Her mouth dropped open at his quick comeback. "Climb a—why in the world would I have to know how to _climb a tree?_ " She demanded. Face paling, her eyes trailed up the behemoth of an oak that Lance had been contemplating before her outburst. "And there is absolutely _no_ chance that I am scaling _that_."

 

Casting only a mildly irritated glance at her stubborn refusal, Lance turned and crossed his arms firmly. "It's useful, ‘Llura. _That's_ why."

 

Scoffing, she began skeptically, "Useful? Really, Lance—"

 

"A hungry lion with terrible hair’s after ya," he cut in loudly, brown eyebrows raised and mouth mired in a tight scowl. "Miles and miles of clear land about, and only one single solitary tree smack dab in front of you. What would you do then, Lulu?"

 

Smirking in a manner that was more suitable to something her friend would adopt, she replied, "Since no doubt you'll be nearby, having let the wildcat loose as some part of your daily mischief, I'll just point to you and say, 'See that boy, Mister Lion? I suggest eating him first.'" Mirroring him, she folded her arms with a smug look on her face. "Problem solved, is it not?"

 

Lance merely scoffed, a reluctant hint of amusement peeking through his stern expression. "As though a lion would eat me when there's a tiny bundle of sugary sunshine like _you_ nearby, Allura."

 

The 'tiny bundle of sugary sunshine' promptly responded by unerringly tossing the pair of pants into an unsuspecting Lance's face. "Oi!"

 

Her attempt at simply walking away in exasperation was thwarted by an annoyingly swift Lance, who darted into her escape path with those bright, pleading eyes of his and tilted brows. "It's _fun_ , Lulu. Give it a try." He paused, before plowing on rather indelicately, "And really, I think you could _do_ with a spot of excitement. When was the last time you did anything more daring than try a new cookie at teatime?"

 

Oh, now **that** was most definitely _not_ fair, appealing to her sense of boredom like that. But still, Allura thought apprehensively, her gaze returning to the looming oak (she thought its wooden limbs were suspiciously shaped into the word 'DEATH', but that might have been a combination of her mind's over-active imagination and her reluctance). Between boredom and becoming a mother's warning tale about the folly of clambering up trees and subsequently breaking one's neck, Allura would have to choose boredom over that.

 

At least she'd still be alive to _taste_ the stupid cookies at teatime, thank you very much.

 

"Lance," she began, adopting the no-nonsense tone that her mother often used when explaining to Allura exactly _why_ roughhousing with the stable boys and soundly thrashing them in wrestling games was "Just Not Proper". "There is absolutely _nothing_ you can say, _nothing_ you can do, that will persuade me to put even a _foot_ on that tree."

 

Lance stared at Allura.

 

Allura stared evenly back at him.

 

Allura would later wonder exactly _when_ she would learn to be more wary of the shrewd smile currently curling its way across Lance’s lips.

 

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The pants itched something awful.

 

She could almost ignore the rough sensation of bark through the thin cotton of the borrowed shirt, the tickle of leaves against her face as she tried to shimmy up the tree, and the bite of jagged twigs into her fingers, but she couldn't ignore the blasted pants. Why boys ever wore them would forever be a mystery to her.

 

Grousing to herself about the foreign feel of boy's clothing on her delicate skin was useful in distracting her from the crushing panic of toppling from the beast of a tree she was climbing, but then she would catch a glimpse of just how far it was to the newly-appreciated sanctuary that was the ground, or Lance would say something like—

 

"You're almost there, muñeca! Just a little further is all—it's easy! I do it all the time!"

 

—well, something like _that_ , immediately resulting in all of her initial fright to come rushing back in droves.

 

"You should have been born a bird, Lancey!" Allura shouted without looking, fearful that if she did then she would make a misstep and go plunging straight down. Every sense she had was currently in a state of unrivaled turmoil, to the point that she couldn't even trust the surety of her own grasp. "If you like climbing quiznacking trees so much!"

 

"Language, dear Lulu~!" was the playful reply called back up, from the cocky prat who still had his two feet safely on the ground. "Remember — keep your mind off the height and think happy thoughts! Escaping from suitors, hiding from hungry animals —"

 

"Dropping my once-best friend from the very highest branch and see him take a gander at flying!"

 

Allura entertained the pleasing thought for a brief moment, and then sadly tossed it away on the reasoning that Lance would probably get caught by the forest winds and be swept securely downwards. He did have uncommonly good luck, after all.

 

"Yes," Lance’s voice drifted up to where she clung tightly to a branch. "But in order to do that, you'd actually have to _get_ to the highest branch. I don't see that happening anytime soon, what with the way you're dilly-dallying about up there!"

 

Allura glowered at a nearby leaf, picturing it to be Lance’s smirking face. That was it. By hook or by crook, she was going to reach the top of this green giant and make him eat his own words.

 

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.

 

It was with a triumphant yell, rather than the petrified one that she had started up the tree with, that Allura jumped to the soft dirt.

 

Unfortunately, the elation of her mood did nothing for the fact that the adrenaline was now fast draining from her body, leaving behind an inconvenient wobbliness. Her feet were still shaky and unconvinced that she was back on blessedly sturdy ground, and so gave a stumble that sent her careening wildly towards that aforementioned ground.

 

She squeaked as her fall was halted by Lance’s warm grip — the same arms that had mercilessly pushed her up the tree now holding her close. Whereas she had felt that breathless exhilaration of adventurous fright up in those branches, ensconced in her best friend's embrace, she could barely remember what 'terror' even was. Sagging against him, she glanced up into a handsome face that held a grin wide enough to crack it.

 

It was with no little amount of pride that she returned it, momentarily forgetting her former irritation with him in the rush of her achievement. "I did it, Lance!"

 

"Told ya you could, Lulu," he said, raising his brows at her. "Didn't doubt you for a moment."

 

A light snicker left her lips. "Is that why you were pacing below me with your arms spread wide? No doubt indeed, you worrywart."

 

"Saw that did you?" Lance sounded thoroughly unrepentant.

 

"When I wasn't staring up at the sky, praying that it wasn't the last sight I would see as I fell to my death? Yes."

 

Releasing her gently, Lance spun in place; arms flung wide as though mimicking the feathered creatures that soared above them. "But what a glorious sight, ‘Llura!" He turned to look at her through messy bangs, earnestness in every boisterous gesture and every inch of his unlined face that had yet to be burdened with many of the cares and worries of adulthood. "If I were to die, that would be the final thing I'd want to clap eyes on."

 

"I don't want to die at all," Allura grumbled, trying in vain to remove all of the tree bugs and leaf litter that had found their way onto her person. "Which is why I'm keeping myself anchored to level land for a while, thank you very much."

 

Lance gave her an understanding pat on the back, shooing off a ladybug and caterpillar while he did so.

 

"No more trees? That's fine. Next time," Lance said, with a positively wicked glee in his voice and a rascally look aimed at the river coursing soothingly beside them. "I'll teach you how to swim, Lulu!"

 

And Allura, her formerly smooth, dark skin now blossoming with patches of purple, ground-and-tree induced bruises from failed climbing attempts and coated in a fine layer of dirt, replied in the most eloquent way she knew how.

 

Eyes crinkling in a bright smile, she put her foot firmly on Lance’s back and gave it a swift push when he wasn't paying attention.

 

The resultant yelp and splash of water were, she had to say, most gratifying.

 

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The summer months were spent disappearing into the forest to meet Lance at their special river spot, turning something that had once been commonplace into a near-daily event that Allura impatiently wriggled and squirmed with anticipation for whenever she was trapped behind the castle walls.

 

If her parents were curious about her sudden and new found love for escaping into the surrounding woods they said nothing, content that the magic safeguarding the castle lands would protect their eager little daughter and understanding all too well the insatiable thirst for activity that youth brought with it. Allura stayed silent about her acquaintance with Lance, partly because he staunchly refused every attempt she had made at pulling him along to the castle with her, and partly because he was a vivid light that she wanted to selfishly keep to herself for as long as she could, for friendship with Lance was never, _ever_ boring. Many words could be utilized in describing what it was to spend time in the rambunctious and highly resourceful boy's company, but Allura sometimes thought there really wasn't any term unique enough to describe Lance.

 

Their adventures ranged from unexpected and novel—

 

(("Lance, a troll? A _troll?"_

 

" 'Ey now, I didn't know it was a quiznacking troll cave!"

 

"Don't _swear_!"

 

"A big, man-eating troll here and you're lecturing me about my _language?_ Really, muñeca?"

 

"The young lady has a point, boy. Improper language is the sign of a lazy mind."

 

"Thank you, Mister Troll!"

 

"Don't talk to the _troll_ , Allura!"

 

"And why not? He's got more manners than you, after all."

 

"Oi!"))

 

—to the exciting and dangerous.

 

(("Hate to ask this, Lulu, but do you have any idea how we always seem to end up runnin' for our lives?"

 

"Yes, actually, I do! And I can say it five words, Lance: You and your brilliant ideas!"

 

"You were the one who wanted to venture into a shady back-alley shop! And then when you stumbled upon a secret wall, you just _had_ to open it, didn't you!"

 

"Well, how was I supposed to know that forty thieves had all taken up residence there as a secret hideout! And what kind of password is _'open sesame'_ anyways!"

 

"Better question is, where the quiznacking 'ell did you even come up with that!"

 

"Don't blame _me_ for your lack of imagination!"))

 

To be truthful, Allura quite felt as though she had been wandering through life as a sleepwalker, content to follow the comfortable paths lain before her without any real comprehension of what existed beyond the boundaries of those paths. In a colorless world, Lance was one of the few splashes of blinding color that penetrated the suffocating monotony. In a cocooned life, Lance was the insurmountable obstacle that refused to budge, forcing her to widen that narrow little world she dwelled in.

 

Not that she would ever tell Lance any of that, though.

 

The blighter had a big head and inflated ego as it was.

 

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Allura sat at the tea table, mentally cataloguing all of the castle's books she could possibly remember and contemplating which would be best to bring along to her daily afternoon meeting with Lance.

 

 _The Iliad_ and _The Odyssey_ were most definitely out — sometimes she thought he had scoured the pages so many times that the ancient words had been imprinted on his fingertips. Really, anything involving grand adventures and daring sea journeys and her restless friend was entranced.

 

She shook her head. _Boys._

 

Allura had once offered to take along some of her favorite tales of dashing princes and romantic heroes as a change of genre, but his only response had been a slight snicker and a "Why would I want to read about a bunch of ridiculous ponces running about trying to rescue bird-brained princesses from a dragon's evil clutches? What tripe!"

 

To which she had crossly pointed out that _she_ was a princess, and therefore quite resented his rude generalization.

 

Allura hadn't known whether to be mollified or incited at his proclamation that he had every faith in her ability to out-shout and out-glare a dragon to its knees utilizing her impressive lungs and frankly scary gaze.

 

So she had settled for sniffing primly and whacking him on the arm with one such 'book of tripe'.

 

Their little tradition of the hours spent reading (interspersed between their wild gallivants through the woods) had begun quite some time ago.

 

Once she'd discovered that he possessed absolutely no degree of literacy (more like she'd had to forcibly _drag_ the information out of a pink-cheeked Lance) Allura had taken it upon herself to adopt a role she never would have thought she'd enjoy: that of Lance’s teacher.

 

Was he stubborn about it? Yes.

 

Did he complain loudly and relentlessly while she tried to make him sound out words? Most definitely.

 

Had she been forced to chase him away from whatever cave or tree he'd pelted off to whenever he saw Allura and the increasingly commonplace sight of her lugging a wagon of books behind her? More times than she could very well count.

 

It was an arduous task to be sure, but Allura reveled in the eventual spark of joy that found its way into his blue eyes as he had learned to appreciate the unparalleled beauty of words and the stories they crafted.

 

Of course, given that the little bugger held claim to an abnormally clever mind and honed wit, it had taken but a month or so before he had rivaled, and then gone on to surpass, her in reading ability. Irksome, but at least his eyes no longer glazed over in boredom when she so much as mentioned books.

 

Sadly, though, her lessons hadn't done anything for the atrocious spoken language he employed, which she sometimes believed was only one-fourths proper English and three-fourths horrid street slang.

 

Even then, Allura had the sneaking suspicion that Lance was perfectly capable of the former, but continued with the latter merely for the pleasure of watching her eye uncontrollably twitch when he butchered his way through a sentence. Allura was by no means exemplary of the refined and snooty princess type, but her ears could only suffer through so much before she tried to throttle him.

 

"Princess?" The snobby voice of the prince seated across from her loudly cut through her thoughts, jerking her back to the much-less-desirable present.

 

Allura flinched and dredged up a bleary smile. _Speaking of suffering ears. . ._

 

"Yeah?" She winced, refraining from smacking herself hard on the forehead despairingly. Clearly ruminating too deeply on Lance’s bad habits translated far too easily from brain to mouth. "I mean, yes?"

 

In a rather new experience for her, the young prince regarded her with a frank stare that clearly communicated the fact that he thought her a half-wit. "Are you quite alright, princess? You seem. . . inextricably out of sorts."

 

Allura rolled her eyes. Nine years old and already speaking like an old man — the toothless type that liked to pinch her cheeks and declare her the cutest little bug ever to exist.

 

Allura cast desperate eyes at the clock, biting back a frown when she saw the dratted thing had barely moved so much as a minute.

 

Had Lance been present, she would have immediately accused him of setting back the clock, one of his favorite tricks to play on unsuspecting folk, unfortunately. However, as she was well aware of his immense dislike for the castle and all of its perceived confinements and restrictions (no amount of cajoling on her part had ever been enough to persuade him to visit her there, after all) he wasn't a possible culprit.

 

No, she thought glumly, eyeing the droning boy seated there. It was more likely that she had earned fate's retaliation in some manner, causing it to vindictively slow time just when it was the most inopportune for Allura.

 

In other words, when she was being forced by her mother to entertain the only son of Emperor Zarkon and his wife Honerva.

 

A son who, as Allura had once admirably termed it to her disapproving mother and uncontrollably laughing father, "had the personality of the icky slugs I find in my garden pond".

 

She kept her gaze resolutely turned away from the beckoning window on the southern wall, which was temptingly thrown wide open in the hopes of capturing one of the cool breezes of the approaching fall weather. No matter the strength of her will, one glance out to the expanse of forest visible from the foyer and she would be utterly lost — abandoning the mealy-mouthed Prince Lotor to seek out her light hearted friend and a far more entertaining time.

 

Afternoons with Lance were always unexpected, with him eager to teach and tell her of all the nifty little tricks and crafts he knew, and Allura just as willing to soak up the information. They were just as likely to spend one sunny day lazing in the grass and cloud-watching as at the marketplace, Allura grumbling petulantly as Lance dragged her about trying to show her how not to stick out 'like a bloody sore thumb'.

 

Her hand absentmindedly fiddled with the outreaching edge of the strawberry jam spoon, surreptitiously tuning out the prince's voice ( _Goodness,_ she thought, was he _still_ nattering away?) and sneaking another look at the clock.

 

 _Que mierda_ , to coin one of Lance’s favorite phrases. The treacherous thing had only moved only another minute forwards. It was doing that on purpose — it had to be.

 

She would have to see about the town’s clocksmith crafting a new one come his next visit to the castle. And perhaps another puppet.

 

" _Princess_." Then Lotor’s voice sounded again, impatiently spiky and loud it enough that it sliced through Allura’s dazed dreaminess.

 

Allura started with a jerk, her hand hitting hard against the handle of the jam spoon. . . which, unfortunately for the prince, went careening beautifully through the air in a smooth arc, splattering crimson jam in most directions — some of which landed on a surprised Allura, but most of which could now be located on the prince's silken cravat and vest.

 

There was even one particularly fetching blob which had landed solidly on the prince's forehead, making it seem as though he had a large pustule festering there.

 

Was it most unbecoming? Yes.

 

Was it one of the funniest sights she had been treated to during this very tedious day? Most definitely.

 

Allura giggled — but forgot that instead of Lance, who would have helplessly joined in her laughter with his own vibrantly sunny one, it was His Royal Snippy-and-Boring Highness, who was currently bellowing at the top of his lungs about his spoiled clothing.

 

The heavy patter of approaching adult feet was already echoing in the outer hall, obviously heralded by the whining shout of her tea companion, and so Allura did what most guilty parties resorted to in such times: scooped up her skirts, jam-covered and all, and broke into a run.

 

Her laughter renewed itself as soon as she made her slipped out of the castle and located one very bored Lance, lounging around their climbing tree waiting for her.

 

Lance, a befuddled look on his face, had swiped a fingerful of sweet red goo off her cheek, snickering at her gasping explanation of what happened and regarding her with a fond sort of pride.

 

"I forget you have to do things like that, Lulu," he said, shaking his head. "Take tea with the likes of royalty. Don't you go mad?"

 

"If you're so worried about my state of mind, you're welcome to switch places with me," Allura called from her perch upon a low branch, which she had happily clambered up and was expertly balanced on. "I'll work in the smithy all day as Lance. And you can be Princess Allura." She paused, mouth stretching into a suspiciously twitching smile. "Or would it be _Princess_ Lance?"

 

Lance snorted, holding out hands calloused by the proximity of searing flames and the scrape of rough metal. "I've seen the frivolous torture devices you're squeezed into, muñeca. And I think I'll take these any day of the week."

 

"Also you would have to actually clean up," Allura pointed out humorously, dubiously eyeing his handsome, if not soot-streaked, face, and untamable curls of hair. It was such a pity his beautiful, rich brown locks were quite overshadowed by their wild appearance. "Which I think is a sheer impossibility for you, Lancey."

 

Rolling his eyes and ignoring his friend's obligatory daily scolding about his state of cleanliness, Lance scuffed his foot upon the ground, kicking up a satisfying cloud of dirt. "Yup, never'd fit into the posh lifestyle, me. What with my lack of ruffled shirts and princely airs—I'd be tossed out on me ear just as quick as you please."

 

He glanced up hesitantly to where Allura was still languidly seated on _their_ tree, hair loose and glinting in the summertime sun, and a small spot of jam decorating the tip of her pert little nose. Even in her leisure, every movement was still elegantly fluid, every inbred grace evident at first look.

 

She could spend each day traipsing hand-in-hand with him throughout the land, hollering like a wild child and rolling down grassy knolls, and yet she was still very much a princess — refined, beautiful, and a thousand times more worthy than any bloke in the world, him included.

 

 _Especially_ him.

 

Pasting on a too-bright grin and an uncertain chuckle forced from his lips, he asked, "Sure you wouldn't rather be back there, then, Allura? Being flattered and coddled by your various would-be Prince Charmings?"

 

In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have sprung such a question on her while she was so precariously ensconced in the high-placed branches.

 

There was a shriek as a surprised and horrified Allura slipped off the tree limb, toppling towards the ground. His body accustomed to prompt and speedy reactions to dangerous situations (honestly, it was surprising how few townspeople had a proper sense of humor when it came to his practical jokes), Lance immediately dove to catch her, and they collided in one solid _thunk_ upon the ground.

 

"Ouch," there was a low whimper from Allura, and a corresponding one from the boy who had momentarily become her human cushion. Her elbow was jabbing painfully into the softness of his gut, and her hair covered his face in a thick curtain.

 

"Allura, love," came the muffled words from beneath her. "I'm tickled you're alive, but you're squishing me."

 

She rolled off of him immediately, getting to her feet and offering a hand to Lance.

 

"Idiot," she grumbled, grunting as she heaved the naturally heavier boy upwards from his ungainly sprawled position. "This is all your fault. Why did you have to go and ask a stupid question like _that_?"

 

"Why's it such a dumb question, then?" Lance returned, in a tone equally as peevish.

 

Allura wasn't quite certain as to why he so obviously refused to meet her gaze, busying himself with the pretense of sweeping away the dirt on his personage ( _Please,_ she scoffed to herself. _As though Lance ever cared about his clothing's state of spotlessness)._ It was obvious something was bothering him, if his surly look and the frown lines gathering about his forehead were anything to go by.

 

They had had such a lark earlier, laughing about her little mishap with the prince. What precisely had she said to make him go spiraling down into such a contrary temper?

 

"Because," she sighed out, finding no other way to force the stubborn boy to look at her than lifting his chin up with one dainty hand. "You're my best friend. And before that closed little world of people who smile at me without your warmth, and look at me without your gallingly knowing eyes, I'll always choose you, Lance."

 

It was as though her careful words had flicked some instantaneous switch in her friend. There was a fair amount of relief as she noted Lance’s stormy visage returning to its usual light-hearted expression.

 

"And besides," she continued airily, reaching out to assist him in brushing away twigs and dirt caught in his hair. "Why would I want to spend time with a boring old prince when I could be here listening to your tall tales? None of which I believe, by the way."

 

His laugh rivaled even the brightness of the sunlight tumbling down through the leaf gaps of the canopy. "Can't rightly think of a reason, Lulu."

 

One last flick at his head, and she was relatively satisfied at her work of divesting him of the earthen dust that had coated his hair. She stepped backwards slightly to survey him with pursed lips. "Are you quite finished with your bout of self-pity then?"

 

"I can draw it out a bit longer, if you like." His mouth crooked upwards teasingly.

 

Allura flinched at the thought of putting up with a moody, brooding Lance for the remainder of the day, and was quick to answer with a squeaky, "No thank you!" She smiled up at him, anticipation flickering in the quirk of her lips. "Now come _on_ , Lance! You promised to show me the fountain you discovered yesterday, right? Maybe we'll even find fairies there! You said it's their favorite spot to linger, didn't you?"

 

A flurry of ivory waves and a streaming dress flew past him as one eager princess darted giddily into the thick woods ahead, not catching the muted look of relief that had crossed her friend's kind blue eyes.

 

Lance gave a mock groan of exasperation, shaking his head with a smirk. "So demanding. Oi, Allura! Wait up!"


End file.
